Our Hope After Loss
by livingonadream
Summary: The continuation of Katniss and Peeta's story after Mockingjay. How they grow back together and begin to start a new life as the bad memories threaten to steal any chance of happiness. Disclaimer: ALL RIGHTS GO TO SUZANNE COLLINS. I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS.
1. Chapter 1

This pain is excruciating.

I had gone through plenty of pain before the revolution. My father's death, my mother's weary yet constant denial, our near starvation, the imprisonment of the one person on the face of this earth who understood me, two savage and unfair Hunger Games, games where people with lives, hopes, and dreams were all murdered callously. I survived all of that, not easily, but I had. I guess there's just never a way to come out on top after going through something like that.

My trembling, hungry stomach, my excruciating burns and cuts in both arenas, I would multiple that pain by a thousand times and it still wouldn't be as heartbreaking and painful as losing her. My sister. My Prim.

The Prim who sat by our house fires with her goat Lady, the Prim who flew into any medical scare with such grace and calm assurance it was impossible to believe she was only fourteen. The Prim who let her shirttail hang out like a little duck the day of the reaping, who had soft blonde hair and bright blue eyes that promised compassion, yet ferocity: a peacemaker, yet a fighter. Who accompanied my mother, emulated my father, and laughed with Peeta and Haymitch at the sight of peppermints that cold winter night before everything changed. So wise, so loving, so much to offer.

So young.

These thoughts coarse through my veins, numbing them and turning them a deadly cold. My arms feel like rubber and for a moment, I feel as if my blood is actually running cold and drying out, slowly evaporating as any brief respite of life inside me vanishes. I had never imagined this kind of loss before. The kind that turns you cold, forces your lips into a straight line, diminishes your fight to live. My heart feels swollen, ready to combust and crack, weighed down with the heavy memories of her last moments. Her lips forming my name, so close and real, just as those white parachutes fell from the sky like raindrops. The flames, engulfing her, me, everything. I begin to hear a ringing in my ears as I begin to tremble, trying to fight off the fiery memory which will always be branded onto my mind. It takes me an excruciating few minutes to realize the ringing resounding in my ears is from my ear-splitting screaming. I stop once I realize I am almost out of breath, stomach heaving and lungs gasping for air.

I am at my home in the Victor's Village, on my couch in the dark, in the cold, not bothering to build a fire or reach for a blanket. I haven't moved, only to go the bathroom and eat the meals Greasy Sae makes for me. Bacon and eggs in the morning, soup and sandwiches for lunch, and stew and loaves of bread for dinner. It has been this way for as long as I can remember, the time flying by. I can't remember if I have been here one day, one month, one year… My mind fogs over and simply waits the day out until the gray sky turns into black night. Greasy Sae constantly talks to me about Haymitch's geese and Paylor's election and the weather outside, which is slowly morphing from bitter cold into a more hopeful spring. She rambles again one day as she stands at the stove, stirring my lunchtime soup as I stroke Buttercup on the couch, wrapped in two wool blankets. The fire crackles, puffing out little whiffs of musk and wood. With the sunlight slanting in through the windows, I can tell today's weather is sunnier, warmer. I'm just thinking Greasy Sae will comment on the cloudless day when she says something that finally breaks me out of my sleeping reverie, causing my face to portray the first emotion it has since that horrible day that ended the war. The expression I wear now in reaction to Sae's words is one of both pain and confusion.

Her words make me focus my attention, but at least I am relieved I feel no sense of longing or desire. Only a sense of relief.

'Gale's apparently in District 2 nowadays, executing some of the commanding Peacekeepers. I thought you would want to know. I've been seeing him on the television a lot lately." I can tell Greasy Sae is worried she has offended me and probably carefully weighed this decision to mention Gale. It doesn't hurt me as much as I thought. I don't really know him anymore, and that's what hurts more than anything. The war has ruined any hope of salvaging our friendship.

Greasy Sae stirs the pot thoughtfully, turning to look at me. "The weather is great. Why don't you get out today?"

Her face is hopeful, even pleading, so I muster all the strength I can manage to lift myself off of the cushions and trudge upstairs. I find myself feverishly grateful that I have climbed up these stairs once already since my return to throw out the one thing polluting my room, soaking into my pours, into my very being. I brace my nostrils, expecting to still smell that sweet yet sour fearful scent permeating throughout the upper level of my house. I take a tiny whiff, and to my relief, I smell nothing but must and dusty furniture. I grab my father's hunting jacket and boots, wincing briefly at the memories surging through my mind before looping my hair into a braid and stomping down the stairs.

"I'm going hunting today," I tell Sae, turning around to leave. I don't look at her expression, but I'm guessing she's more than a little shocked.

"Well, I could use some fresh game around here," is all she says.

The woods are alive and hopeful, my favorite kind of day. Early spring, birds chirping, wind blowing with the smell of grass lingering in the breeze. Even now, in my broken state, I feel the best I have since I returned home. I now realize I should have done this sooner, come to the woods that I love so much, escaped the painful, caged up memories of my house. I lose track of time completely, trekking and picking a few berries from bushes. I shoot one squirrel right in the eye, thinking of Greasy Sae's stew. It's not as clean a skinning job as I used to manage, but I don't care. It's something at least.

By the time I return to the house, I am exhausted from the lack of movement since returning to Twelve. I hand Greasy Sae the meat, and collapse on the couch, scarfing down a dinner so I can finally succumb to sleep. Only hours later I wake up from a terrible, scream-inducing nightmare that makes me tremble and grit my teeth so hard I wouldn't be surprised if my jaw fractured. All I want is a peaceful, happy sleep that brings happy dreams, like the child in the meadow in the song my father used to sing me. To calm myself, I begin to sing the song of sweet dreams and safety, my father's song. My voice is rough, scratchy from screaming and hoarse with pain as tears drizzle down my cheeks. Nevertheless, I begin.

_"And here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true, here is the place where I love you…"_ My voice saturates the darkness of the room as I try to compose myself. Suddenly, I just want to feel comforted and loved and… not _alone_. I realize in this moment, hair sticking to my forehead with sweat and panting heavily, that the isolation I chose when returning home was the worst possible thing for me. I just want someone who knows me, understands me, loves me. And for the first time since the end of the war, I focus on something other than Prim's death and my grief.

Peeta.

The thought of him makes the very pits of my stomach tingle with excitement, longing, desire, even fear. Has this war turned him back into the screaming hijacked boy? Does he even remember he loves me? I never asked him as we invaded the Capitol because I just couldn't form the words without breaking down. I had needed him then more than ever when he still felt so distant, but now I want him even more. I want those blue eyes to stare into mine and tell me everything's going to be okay. I want his strong, broad arms wrapped around me, protecting me from so much. I want the boy with the bread, who knows all my secrets, the best and the worst, front to back, but loves me despite all of that. I want the one person who can bring me hope, become my dandelion in this unforgiving world of ours.

And only he can give me that.

I wonder where he is, thinking of the cold and calculating hospital rooms in the Capitol. He is probably there, resting, recovering, and talking to Dr. Aurelieus until he can be granted permission to leave. Will he come back to Twelve? I don't want to get my hopes up, considering he could want to have nothing to do with me, this painful burden from his past that makes all those shiny memories so much more confusing. I push these thoughts out of my head and stare at the wooden ridges in the ceiling, thinking about what I truly want out of a relationship with Peeta, beyond thankful when light begins to stream through my window and it can be acceptable to wake up.

After a routine breakfast with Greasy Sae, I notice she begins to pace, staying long after her normal departure time. She pulls on her gray locks, fidgeting and pacing until I can't take it anymore.

"What?" I demand, standing up from the breakfast table.

"Oh, nothing, Katniss. I'm just so glad you are at least functioning again." Her drawl disguises her lie well. If I hadn't grown up to her soothing, wise voice, I wouldn't have known better that she was trying to fool me.

"Right…." I say, my words sure. "Spit it out." I sound harsh, but I can't help it. After everything that's happened, I think I can handle this minute truth.

She glances at me and apparently something in my expression softens her, because now she's looking at me with tears in her eyes and sighs deeply. "I'm just so proud of how far you've come Katniss. That's why I don't want to set you back to square one with all these people from your past and-"

I cut her off. "People?"

"Nothing," Greasy Sae says, gathering her knife and trading bag. "I have to get going. I'll be back for lunch." As if I didn't know that already.

After she leaves, I spend a few minutes pacing my kitchen trying to decipher who Sae meant by "people" before I decide to take a walk to clear my head. As I walk down the stairs of my porch, I'm hit with a memory of my mother and Prim, laughing on the porch swing, Peeta trying to paint pictures of them. I've been thinking about him all morning since last night when I wished he was there to comfort me. But now, the memory only hurts. I haven't just lost Prim: I've lost him too.

My face contorts in pain as I fly down the stairs, trying to escape the pain more quickly. That's when I hear the scraping. Curious and all-too-defensive, I round the corner of the house, expecting to find a fanged lizard or a ton of white roses being buried in the ground. Instead, I find something almost ironically shocking. My boy with the bread, my Peeta, stands there, a shovel in his hand as he pats a soft-edged, pretty bush into the sun-soaked soil. My mouth locks into place and I can't speak. It's really him. I revel in his healthiness, his eyes no longer clouded. They are clear solid blue, even though he is still thinner than usual. There is still a burn scar above his eye, but it doesn't matter. It's still him.

'Katniss?" he asks gently, taking in my appearance. Considering I'm disheveled and much thinner than I am when I'm healthy, his lips turn down slightly into a frown. I become defensive automatically. I try to shake it off, knowing he's only concerned.

"You're back," I say.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," Peeta explains. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

I ignore his comment. "What are you doing?" I ask, glancing at the bush he holds gingerly.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her. I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." His eyes are staring straight into mine, trying to read me. As I look at the bush, I notice the rose. My nostrils curl and I'm about to yell at him, until I realize they are primrose bushes. The flower my sister was named for. So I just nod quickly and hurry inside, collapsing on the couch as my chest beings to ache. I try to calm myself down by reminding myself Peeta is here, which is a good thing. I have him. Even if our relationship is complicated and I'm not sure what he or I want, he's still here. Now I finally understand what Greasy Sae was talking about when she mentioned "people from my past". How wrong she was though. All I want is an old friend, who understands what has happened to me, everything from loss to the arena, someone has been there through it all.

I think of Peeta as I sit in the house, wondering what our next conversation will be like. It's been so long since I haven't thought of him as hijacked and indifferent that I don't know how much he remembers, how much he cares for me. How close are we still, or has our bond dissolved? I shudder into sleep at that thought, hoping for the first time in a very long time that in the morning I will be able to relive the past in a happy way, in a way with Peeta.

That doesn't end up being as easy as I hoped.

Every day now I go out into the woods, picking berries and hiking, even contemplate going to my father's lake. The one thing I never do is hunt. After shooting the squirrel for Greasy Sae the first time I came out into the woods a few days ago, I had a nightmare involving my arrow piercing something much more precious than a tiny little rodent. Humans cried as my arrows whizzed by and struck the desired target. They were strangers, but so were all the people I purposely and inadvertently killed in Panem.

I don't get the chance to see Peeta again. He's busy baking, tending to Haymitch, and so on as I heard from Greasy Sae. I want to go to his house during the night, curl up to him to ward off the dreams just like I used to. It's more complicated than that though. I'm not sure what he wants, and I'm too afraid to ask for fear of rejection. I can't bear to lose someone else, even if not even trying results in another relationship never rekindled. Better to stop it before it even has the chance to start and end in heartbreak. At least this is my reoccurring thought whenever I find myself tempted to meet Peeta, until this night.

It is a warm night. The slightly warmer days have become even muggier. At night, there is a cool, soft breeze that billows in my windows and prickles my skin, but tonight, there is no moon, the outside air stagnant and humid. No gust, no breeze, no outside force to pick up the scattered pieces of night and make them drift into a wind. Just night.

I wake with a scream already building in my throat. As soon as my eyes fly open, bugging as I frantically glance around the room, the scream releases. It shoots into the air, reverberating in my ears. I idly wonder as my screams slowly turn into sobbing blubbers if Haymitch or Peeta or even anyone in the world can hear my cries. If they did, would they even come to comfort me? I'm not so sure anymore.

When I've finally calmed down enough, I decide I can't take it anymore. I need to get out of this stuffy room, take a walk, clear my head. I'm past my porch and beginning to walk towards the entrance to the Victor's Village when someone grabs my arm. Okay, so "grabs" is a little too rough of a word. It was more of a gentle grasp, but I still react as if someone has electrocuted me. I freeze before whipping around and twisting out of their grasp. I'm about to bolt off through the iron gates and never come back until I glance around to meet his curious eyes. Concerned, soft, loving, and bright blue. I immediately relax.

"What was that?" I ask, stumbling back a few feet. "You scared me so much!" I'm almost giddy with relief that it's only him, only Peeta, until I remember it's only _him_. It's him. A mere two feet away, standing with a healthy glow radiating out of him, reaching out to _me. _For a second I almost forget the hardships of this past week as I just stare, dumbfounded, into those cerulean blue eyes that softly melt my chest, relax my muscles, assure me without any words. Unconsciously I lean forward. This surprises me, considering I never used to have to try so hard to stay away from him, until now, which as his eyes widen considerably, I can tell he's thinking the same thing. I quickly shake it off, regaining composure just as he is about to start talking.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, his blue eyes genuinely concerned. "I didn't mean to scare you. I heard you, and was going to come see if you were all right when I noticed you were leaving." His eyebrows raise at this idea, asking me a silent question. _Why were you trying to leave?_

I would have responded with an "oh, thanks" right away, but my brain locks onto his words, branding them into memory. He came to see _me, _be with _me_, and comfort _me_. My heart swells, not even realizing that the pause has gotten a little too long and possibly awkward.

"Oh, right um. Thank you." I stutter awkwardly. I can see in his eyes that he clearly has observed my matted hair, tear-streaked cheeks, and red eyes. He looks as if he wants to say something, but he bites it back.

A small smile touches his lips as he hears my uncomfortable response. I hope he hasn't put together the fact that I was gazing at him a little too intently. I just stand there, my arms crossed across my chest, suddenly freezing despite the thick, warm air.

"I have them too," he says suddenly.

Maybe it's his tone of voice or the look in his eyes, or maybe even just the fact that I've known him so long, shared so much with him, that leads me to the conclusion without a doubt he is talking about nightmares.

I nod slightly, but he understands. He steps forward hesitantly. "I couldn't bear to hear it without doing anything. I know I would want someone to come for me."

"I could never tell when you were having nightmares, though," I offer, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

'Right," he says. I can tell he's trying not to say something. "Well, that's changed some since you've been… gone."

He won't say out loud into the open air the fact that it's been forever since we slept together in that bed to keep each other's bad dreams at bay. But I know that's what he means. So he must be confused on how close we are now too.

"Katniss," he begins, gently, and I can tell he's about to spit it out, something that's been on his mind. "Let's be friends. I'm not sure where your feelings stand, and mine-" he falters, then recovers composure so quickly I think I might have imagined it. "I—I want to give you what you want."

His statement confuses me, but I don't have the courage to ask him what he wants. So I nod again, not as coldly. He relaxes visibly and smiles. "Okay, good." Then he stares at me with those blue eyes, his smile lighting up his face in my old, favorite way. The smile that shows him for what he is, which is _good_. He's good through and through.

He moves forward the slightest bit towards me. My hands ache to reach out and hold his, just for the feeling of safety.

"I've missed you," he whispers, his eyes sparkling against the night. His soft words permeate into the still night, lingering in the air. I can't help but smile in return.

Maybe it's my loneliness, or the fact that I realize Peeta is finally back, truly back, as his kind, gentle self, but I blurt my honest feelings without thinking about it. "I've missed you more," I breathe, closing the space between us and wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. His hands slid up my back, which makes me shiver, but not because I'm cold. He buries his face in my hair and silent tears roll down my cheeks because I'm so glad I have him back. Someone to lean on, confide in. The places where his skin touches mine tingle slightly with a heat, slowly spreading through my body to the very tips of my fingers and toes. He murmurs soothing words as my cries become audible and I begin to clutch him tighter. And just like that night on the train before the Quarter Quell, I know I won't be the first to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys So I know this ended up being crazy long, but I really couldn't put it down until I reached an ending I was okay with. More to come soon. I really want to develop this story and expand with more characters outside of Katniss and Peeta while still focusing on their personal struggle so stay tuned. Enjoy! **

We stand there for an immeasurable amount of time, letting the seconds or minutes or hours pass as we cling tight to each other, our only solace in this unforgiving world that has taken away everything we love. But when Peeta strokes my hair and murmurs that everything is going to be okay, his breath tickling my ear, I start to wonder if I am wrong about the universe. Maybe it hasn't taken away everything I love.

This thought freezes me, my hands still wrapped around Peeta's neck as I breathe him in. The still night air stands around us, almost like a protective blanket from the prodding eyes of the rest of the world. So many times, I have felt like the cameras were always in view, forcing our relationship, or the Capitol was somehow tainting our relationship, controlling us. In a way, they still are, considering we have been brought together because of the Capitol's torture, but that doesn't matter now. In this moment, I finally feel utterly alone with him, and it's not an unwelcome feeling. I think of him, his arms around me, and wonder where this will eventually lead. It took Peeta becoming within inches of death for me to finally understand just exactly how much I need him. Before he was captured and tortured, his cloudy mind conjuring up dangerous images of me, I was too afraid to admit how I felt about him. I had Gale, the rebellion, and too many conflicting emotions surrounding my boy with the bread to sort out exactly what Peeta and I had. But that day in the forest, shooting the propo, I realized exactly how I felt about him. Even Finnick saw right through me in that second arena. Now, being here with him, I know I should tell him the truth, but I don't know if I can form the words. For two years, I have accepted Peeta's love and listened to him declare how much I mean to him, but I've never been good with words. I don't want to complicate things, especially when even though I know I do… _love_ him, I'm not sure I'm ready for that… commitment. To have him that way, always. And he wants to be friends, but he never did exactly tell me what he wanted. Does he still love me, or is friends all he can force his still-mending mind to comprehend at the moment? I have no idea. And that alone is enough to scare me into biting my tongue.

So I just stay where I am, breathing in that faint scent of cinnamon and dill, holding tight. When a steady breeze begins to pick up, I snuggle closer to absorb as much of his body heat as possible. He notices and pulls me in for a tight hug.

"Why don't we go inside, Katniss?" he whispers into my hair. "I'll make you some tea, and then you can go to bed." I nod my head in assent, noticing how he carefully subtracts himself out of the equation when mentioning my bed. I shrug it off, remembering we're just friends. But then again, I still needed him during the night in my bed even when we were friends….

He leads me up the porch stairs and for the first time in months, he steps into my house. As we cross the threshold, I feel an odd sense of relief. Something about having him here, although it brings back painful memories when more than just me and him occupied this house, it also makes the house feel more alive, less lonely. I welcome the feeling, keeping his hand and mine and never taking my eyes off him as he fixes my tea. Once he's done, he makes me relax on the couch, putting his arm around my shoulder as he sits beside me. The closeness isn't enough for me, so I tuck my legs up onto his lap and am automatically jolted back in time to our interview with Ceaser post-Games when I made this same gesture. Tucking my feet on his lap felt so forced back then, all a ruse to subdue the Capitol, but right now, it's never felt more genuine. It's as if we are actually touching for the first time.

I lean my head on his shoulder and break the silence, illuminating the dark living room with my heavy whisper. "What was it like?"

"Mmmm..?" Peeta asks, sounding as if I've pulled him from another train of thought.

"What was it like… to be in the Capitol? Tortured, I mean."

His knuckles turn white and he pauses for so long I start worrying I've said the wrong thing, dug too deep into painful memories, before he gives me shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"It was… indescribable," he sighs. I've never seen him try so hard for words, his mouth twitching and eyebrows furrowed, that I scoot even closer to him in the dark.

'You don't have to tell me," I say, touching his hair with my hand that's not wrapped in his.

He turns to look at me, his blue eyes bright paired with a sad smile. This next part he just barely whispers. "I want to, though. I just want to tell you everything."

I smile hearing this, knowing exactly what he means. Just the thought of having someone to confide in and share everything with lightens my heavy heart the tiniest bit. "I know," I say.

"I didn't believe you had anything to do with it, Katniss. The whole time I was there, I knew you didn't know anything either. I didn't hold anything against you. But it became so confusing… Day by day, my thoughts weren't mine anymore. I became scared of you, even though I knew it was wrong. I couldn't control it. Then after the first week, I couldn't even process the fact that it _was_ wrong to associate you with those memories. They became my memories. I didn't start realizing what was real and not real until I saw the shininess in the memory where I started the fire in District 12. I knew that wasn't true, that the Capitol razed 12, so I tried to look for something in that image. Then I found that silver misty, the shiny, unstable edges of it that classified it as "not real". As I did that, my memories, the real ones, came back. Especially ones of you. I'm convinced it's a miracle that I can remember all of you now. Of course there are bad days, where the flashbacks are strong and so real and immediate, but after I call myself back, I remember the real memories, of you and me. And that fixes everything."

I'm floored, lost in his words, of the very nightmarish reality of losing who you are. I ask exactly what is on my mind, blurting it out before thinking about what it implies. "What do you remember about us?" I ask.

"You singing the Valley Song on the first day of school, your hair in two braids with that brand new dress. That day when I gave you the bread in the freezing rain. That slap my mother gave me stinging. I remember your face on the day of the reaping, strong yet masking all that vulnerability and sadness. The cave you nursed me back to health in, our homes here, the feeling of watching you watch Gale being whipped, your sister comforting me that cold night. And your face when you asked me to stay with you. That night on the beach when you told me you needed me. And for one moment," he says, his eyebrows scrunching," I didn't care that it could have been an act. You sounded so real, so yourself, that I believed it just to be happy for the remaining moments of my life. I remember the white lab coats, the screaming…" he winces and continues. "And you and me, through that one-way glass, when I wasn't myself. I think I called you a mutt… God I'm sorry for that, Katniss. You know I could never see you like that, I mean you are-"

I cut him off. "Peeta. Don't apologize. You weren't yourself. That's why you were finally telling the truth about who I actually am," I laugh. He starts to disagree, but I put my finger to his lips. 'It's a joke," I reassure him. "We don't always have to agree on the goodness of my heart."

'Fine," he murmurs, allowing himself to smile. As he stares into my eyes, his blue irises boring into mine, his face abruptly changes and become serious.

"Most of all," he murmurs gently yet suddenly, changing the subject. 'I remember how I felt about you….how – how I _feel _about you now. That's what reminds me of who I really am and who you really are."

I stare at him blankly, processing his words. How he feels about me. Present tense, meaning he feels that way right now, as our bodies sit close on the couch, protecting each other from nightmares. It makes my heart race to know that after all this time, after everything I've done and haven't done to him, he still loves me. Is still looking out for _me_, not even considering his own needs. I want to respond, to tell him how I feel, that I do love him, but I know that will lead to other things that I'm just not ready for. So I sit and smile, squeezing his hand tightly, aching to let him know that I feel the same way. Even if I will never be able to enter the kind of relationship he wants, I still love him. I can still be his friend. Maybe one day I'll even have the courage to say that to him. But for right now, our embrace does all the talking. He's back, he loves me, and even if he doubts it, I love him too. I just can't love him the way I wish I could. I'm too broken.

We sit as the night unfolds around us. Time stops as I link my fingers with his, relaxing into his strong and steady frame that seems to be formed exactly to the shape of my body as if I was made to fit. Before I know it, I let my heavy eyelids pull me under into a warm, comfortable sleep, knowing Peeta's there to comfort me.

v

I awake cold and alone. My bed feels hard underneath my back, and I grope the sheets, finding nothing but a tangled mess of fabric. My heart sinks quickly as I realize Peeta has left. But before I get too upset, I brush it off and remind myself to be fair. He's trying to respect my wishes, give me space, and be my friend like we agreed to be. And I don't think friendliness is necessarily considered sleeping in the same bed to ward off bad dreams. Except for maybe when it comes to me and Peeta.

As this thought runs through my head again and again, the strangely tainted and odd friendship Peeta and I have, I rise and get dressed in simple pants and a long-sleeved shirt. I don't even bother to braid my hair back. In the bathroom, I splash my face with water before squaring my shoulders and walking into the bright sunlight illuminating the kitchen, briefly wondering how to face another day.

The sight in my living room stops me in my tracks.

He's there, laying on his side on my couch with his feet dangling haphazardly wayward. His hair is tangled, the blond locks turning golden in the streaming sunlight, and he looks so peaceful there's no way I could ever wake him. As I slowly lope to the kitchen to start making a meager breakfast for both of us, I realize he must have carried me up the stairs after I fell asleep on the couch. His unseen kindness and protectiveness of me makes me want nothing more than to return the favor. I have broken down in front of him and let him comfort me too many times. I never imagine the amount of pain and grief he's suffering as well.

This thought makes me put down the jug of milk that Greasy Sae milked and walk over to the side of the couch, kneeling on the wooden floors to softly run my fingers through Peeta's hair. It's so soft and comforting, the way the locks rub against the skin of my hands silkily, almost like butter. I don't even realize when he first opens his eyes. Which makes obviously appear as the creeper who decides to stroke his hair while she thinks he's still asleep. I don't know how long his sky blue eyes have been staring at me before I finally rip my eyes away from his hair on my hands and focus on the rest of his face. Only then do I realize he is staring.

I jump up, awkwardly putting my hands at my sides before scurrying over to the kitchen to focus on the breakfast. I wish the kitchen was a separate, distinct room so I could hide my embarrassment of being caught from him. But since it's not, his eyes are free to roam over my face, searching them with an amazing yet embarrassing intensity. I expect him to say something about our friendship, or ask for an explanation, but to my relief, he doesn't. He just chuckles slightly in that easy, friendly way, then gets up and walks over to stand across the kitchen counter.

'So," he says, his voice, rough with sleep, sounding attractive and husky. "What can I do to help?" I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood, so I play along, deciding to forget my slip up with the you-just-caught-me-stroking-your-hair thing.

"You," I say authoritatively, "can sit and wait. You've already done enough."

He raises his eyebrows in confusion. "Katniss, I was just sleeping. How have I already done enough?"

"Peeta, you carried me to bed last night and slept on the couch so that I wouldn't be alone. You've done more than enough. I don't think I will ever stop owing you."

He smiles, thoughtful. "And I know how much you hate owing people."

I'm surprised he chooses to say that, that he even cares enough to decipher my complicated thought process, but his words unleash this feeling of delicious happiness in my heart that overshadows that fact.

"So, what's for breakfast?" he asks, leaning back on the stool as the sun brightens my kitchen. The sunlight makes everything look happy and bright, even the deep chocolate cabinets glow with light. I can feel a certain routine forming, but with Peeta here, staring at me as I cook, I know I would be glad to welcome this as my daily routine for the rest of my life.

I end up being right. As soon as we wake up, he comes to my house and we eat breakfast then go about our day. I've started to hunt again in order to bring in food and take my mind off everything that lies inside District 12's fence: the seeding, the nightmares, and the omnipresent grief that I and Peeta struggle through together. Peeta bakes at both of our houses and in the new bakery in town. He also paints, but he only does that at night, when he retreats back to his own house. I've never seen his new paintings: they are stored away in a spare bedroom at his house. After that first night when Peeta slept on my couch, I told him that I wouldn't fall apart if he left for just the night and then came back. I didn't know if I was ready to let him come sleep with me after so many months of fearing any closeness to another human being. So he goes home at night, while I pretend I can fend off the nightmares without him. Which I can't obviously. I wake in my room, shivering, but I've learned to bite back the screams so that I don't wake Peeta. He needs his rest, not bothersome Katniss Everdeen crying out to him at all hours of the night.

About a week later, Peeta and I decide to take a walk through town. It's the first time we have been out together in town in the middle of broad daylight at the busiest hour of the market. We walk past the lot where the new trading market has sprung up in place of the old Hob, trying to ignore the fact that literally everyone in sight is staring at us, mouths gaping open. Sure, it might be a shock that we are now friends since Peeta's hijacking experience, but I would have thought they would have at least tried to conceal that fact. I guess I was wrong.

'Why are they staring?" Peeta leans over to whisper in my ear. "We aren't some crazy Capitol people." We both wince at that, but he continues. "They aren't even trying to hide it." Then, Peeta automatically straightens and gazes with those breathtaking blue eyes directly at a young woman who is ogling over the sighting of us. She scurries away, her face red and hot with embarrassment.

I laugh, tugging on his arm to keep him moving when suddenly my fingers freeze. Without thinking, I've broken our careful let's-be-friends agreement. Or at least I think I have. But Peeta only hesitates for a moment before letting me lead him away. My hand is still grasping his the fabric at his elbow, so I gently slide my hand down to pull away. I'm just running my hand over his fingers to release my grip when his strong, steady hand latches onto mine and grips tightly, giving a tiny squeeze that makes my heart flutter. I don't object to his warm hand around mine, only hold tighter as we roam through the streets, hand intertwined. If we had a good amount of stares before, now we have about the whole of District 12 looking at us. One woman, old in age with wrinkles sagging her face, even gasps at the sight of us linked together, then smiles so widely it looks like it hurts her cheeks. Another girl, a young teenager, stares at us so intensely it forces me to steal a glance. She's olive-skinned like me, with dark mahogany hair and intense gray eyes that loom across my face like storm clouds. She takes me by the arm that isn't claimed by Peeta, abruptly pulling my head close to hers so quickly I don't have time to pull away until she's already whispering in my ear.

"Please tell me that what you did for him was real. My family… they died for this. Please." I can hear the palpable pain in her voice, and I immediately know what she's asking. She wants me to admit to her that my love for Peeta is real so that she can finally at least move on in her grief, knowing her family died for the revolution that was sparked because of Peeta and I's so called "undying love" for each other. Seeing that pain well in her eyes, I give the only response I can muster, which is the truth.

"It was real," I murmur, squeezing her hand as Peeta stares quizzically at the interaction. 'Thank you…" I stutter, hesitant, "for a-asking. I won't say I'm sorry. I know that only hurts more. But thank you. For your family." With that, I pull away and tug Peeta along, glancing back to smile somberly at the brave girl whose pain I share so deeply in a way she'll never know. Peeta doesn't ask about it, and I don't offer up any explanation. For some reason, even though I don't know her name, I want to keep the girl with the storm cloud eyes to myself, just for one day.

As we continue to move along, I see Thom, Gale's old friend who I know works planting seeds. I can tell he is slightly surprised to see me with Peeta, but he masks it well. He nods at us and I wave with my free hand, grateful that at least he can act civilized at the sight of Peeta and me together. I continue towards him until I realize Hazelle is there, with Rory, and consider turning around just to avoid the awkwardness before Hazelle's soft as butter voice carries over to us. "Hello, Katniss. Peeta."

"Hi, Mrs. Hawthorne," Peeta says politely, glancing at me to gauge my reaction. I compose myself, feeling strange at the notion of Peeta and Gale's mother in conversation. I release Peeta's hand briefly to give her a genuine hug. She smells like soap, and I can tell by the way she chuckles into my ear that she comprehends the fact that Peeta and I are just friends. She also knows I feel uncomfortable because I think she'll mention it to Gale. And he, out of all the people in this world, is one person I don't need to see right now.

"Hi," I say.

"Well, I'm glad to see you two back," Hazelle remarks. "You both look so well."

"Thank you," Peeta says sincerely. Even though Hazelle's remark is somewhat of a joke because we both know we look like sleep-deprived, grief-stricken ghosts.

As I stand there, between Hazelle and Peeta's friendly conversation, I am suddenly hyperaware of Peeta's arms dangling at his sides. I ache to reach out and grasp his fingers but know it will only cause more confusion and tension with Thom and Hazelle as onlookers. So we bid our goodbyes quickly, and as we begin to walk away, I can't help myself. I reach out and gingerly wrap my hand around his warm ones. He looks a little surprised, but easily regains composure and just keeps walking. This feels so right, my hand in his. To anyone else, I know it looks like something else. That much was confirmed by the gasps and stares of the people. But to me and Peeta, just knowing that we are there for each other, that's what feels right. And after all I have been through, I couldn't care less what other people think.

Later that evening, we are behind his house, a blanket spread out in the grass as the stars twinkle against the summer sky. The humid air sinks into my pores, but not in an unpleasant way. Alive with an almost palpable electricity, the air that separates Peeta and I's arms feels charged, tingly. I don't know what I'm doing with him because the last thing I ever want to do now is to ruin our friendship by using him to comfort myself, but something this time feels different. I start to wonder if what I felt in the cave, on that beach in the Quarter Quell, is what I'm feeling now. That same warmth spreading throughout my body, the spark of electricity hovering in the air between the two of us. I wonder if I could be starting to fall for the boy with the bread. And just that thought terrifies me.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks me suddenly. He stays where he is, lying on his back as the moonlight soaks into his skin and turns it a dusty, silver color.

I answer truthfully without giving away too many of my thoughts. "I'm thinking about you," I breathe, hoping he doesn't take my honest answer in a wrong way.

I hear his intake of breath and turn my head to look over at him. His eyes are closed now, and his lips are curved into a soft smile. Even though I now I am only setting myself up for future complications, I can't help smiling in return.

'What about me?" he asks curiously.

"I don't know," I mutter, searching for the proper words. "I just—I'm thinking about our friendship, I guess. How nice it is to have someone to confide in." It's a half-truth, but I carefully omit the part about my complicated feelings for him.

"I know," Peeta agrees, and I can't tell if he was hoping I would say something else or not. "My nightmares can get so bad…"

"Why don't you ask me to stay over?" I interrupt. "You always come over when you hear me."

"Well, I just usually lay there until I come back to reality. I don't want to wake you."

"You should," I say. This is too much like Peeta, sacrificing his own feelings so that I can get more sleep that I don't need anyway. Sleep only brings more nightmares.

"I know, Katniss," Peeta says gently, and I can tell he wants to hold back whatever is on his mind. Abruptly his face looks so sad, so heartbreakingly sad. And not only does it make me ache for his pain, it makes me furious. The Capitol, even though overthrown, is still somehow haunting the halls of our minds like a terrible phantom. And I hate them for doing this to Peeta. For altering his memories, taking away his family, and leaving me with this crumpled man filled with grief. He has suffered so much in these past years, like I have, and although I understand exactly his grief, I can't form the words he needs to hear. I've never been good with words like Peeta, so I do the one thing I can think of. I scoot closer to him and bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist and begin singing. The same song I sang to myself that night Peeta came to see if I was okay. My voice is sweet and fills the night air softly. I can only hope it's what Peeta needs, because more than anything, after he has helped me so much and stayed down in my uncomfortable kitchen so many nights, I long to be that sense of comfort for him. I want to be the one who finally who consoles him so that he knows he doesn't always have to be the strong one.

_"Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass, a soft green pillow…" _

His eyes fly open and turn to stare into mine. I focus on those bright blue irises and sing, imagining the comforting words of my father's song floating into his heart and his mind, patching up the quilt of grief and confusion. I suddenly want to tell him everything I've been thinking about him, and for the first time since I've met Peeta, I do. I don't hold back. I tell him what I've been thinking about since he's been back, what I wanted to tell him that night we slept underground in the Capitol, and how it felt to lose him to the Capitol after he was taken from the arena.

I begin in a whisper, terrified of letting him in and exposing myself so emotionally for the first time in so long. But I continue, determined to eradicate that tragically sad smile off of his face.

"You are a painter. You are a baker. You sleep with the windows open and double knot your shoe laces. You never take sugar in your tea…" He looks at me in confusion but I continue. "That's what I was thinking that night in the control room underground when we were in the Capitol. I wanted you to remember, to tell you everything about who you were, but I just couldn't form the words without breaking down. And when Haymitch told you the Capitol picked you up, you were all I thought about." My voice gets soft here, and even I can hear the palpable pain in my whisper as I remember that horrible feeling of helplessness. "I felt so helpless, like it was my fault. Like I should have known what the rebels were planning. And when you came back, I was so hurt, and I realized I was too late. Because I realized how I felt about you. And you were… you were…" my voice falters, "You were gone. And I realized how much you meant to me too late. When you finally came back here after the war was over, I had been thinking about you. I missed you. I wanted you to comfort me, but I wasn't sure if you still wanted to see me after everything the Capitol did to you, after everything _I_ did to you. I was scared. But you came back, and cared about me enough to hear my screaming and try to chase after me. You're all I have left, and I can't stand to see you sad this way. I just wanted to let you know that—that I care about you and we're friends, so you have to let me in. You just have to. We only have each other."

I'm crying now, those stubborn tears trailing down my cheeks. I can't lose him. He's staring at me so intently, his cerulean blue eyes searching my face. I see when the realization dawns on him that I'm serious, that I did think about him constantly and cared about him. And even though I'm too afraid to say this out loud, I think he realizes now that not everything I said and did was an act, especially that night on the beach when I was determined to die for him. I'm desperate for him to say something, but all he does is hug me so tightly that my breathing hitches, but it's not uncomfortable. He radiates heat and feels so warm and close, it's beyond reassuring. He brings a certain steadiness to everything that makes life's problems seem much more distant. I know that asking him to let me in and let me comfort him in return is hard, considering I myself shut people out more than I let them in. But I've just poured my heart out to him, and I want him to do the same. I want him to know he doesn't need to protect me from this; we suffer from the same nightmares anyway. So, with the fireflies buzzing around the night sky and the heat sweltering, we hold each other as we cry together, mourning the loss of so many people we loved.

That night, I know Peeta is going to leave. He walks me to my door and finally lets go of my hand. His lips are just forming his goodbyes when I yank him close to me, resting my head on his chest and breathing in that ever present cinnamon and dill scent.

"Stay with me," I breathe, hoping he understands what I'm offering.

"Always," Peeta murmurs. And with that, our friendship finally rekindles where it left off so many months ago in that arena as I walked away from that lightning tree with Johanna, leaving Peeta behind, only to fully come back to him now when all we have is each other.


	3. Chapter 3

** Hi again :) Here's Chapter 3. I hope you guys like it. And sorry for the semi-cliffhanger ;). Also, thank you to the people who reviewed and followed! You guys really make my day. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts!**

I don't know what to say. Peeta has been gone for so long, so distant, but now, he holds my frail hand in his strong, warm one as I lead him upstairs and finally let myself completely break down. It reminds me of our first Games together in the cave when he felt so close to me physically and emotionally after his gruesome leg wound healed and he held me in my sleep. I feel that way again as I lay there, soaking his shirt with tears and clutching him so tight my knuckles turn white. He radiates warmth and steadiness and the promise that everything's going to be okay. And I don't know how he does it. I know he must be ripped on the inside right now, struggling to keep it together, but his face portrays nothing but concern for me. I wish more than anything I could do what he's done for me over and over again. I wish I could be the strong one and comfort him; especially because I know he suffered so much and still suffers now. He's never told me how bad he's doing, what goes through his mind at night when although we both pretended to be fine, we both lied awake, paralyzed by our own minds. All I know is that he can't be completely fine. Although my friendship with Peeta has made me feel so thankful to still have someone, I can't call myself anywhere close to healed. There are still many more bad days than good and I still am deathly afraid of letting anyone in, loving when all the people from my old life that I loved died and slipped through the cracks. I don't know how Peeta feels about me, but I know we're friends, and that I need him here. So I don't think about anything else but our bodies entangled, his face pressed against my collarbone and buried in my hair, my hands wrapped around his neck. I can't ignore the goose bumps on my skin and the fire that seems to fester and crackle in the limited space between us. The still air of my bedroom magnifies everything; even though I'm still sniffling, I feel that hunger, so foreign yet so familiar, rise up in the pit of my stomach and clench my muscles. I don't know what it means and I'm so tired, so confused, too beaten down to make sense of it all. It's so hard to think about complicated things like Peeta and I's relationship. It's much easier to just feel, let his sincere and comforting words sink into my brain, soak into my heart.

When I have finally calmed down, I can see the relief in Peeta's eyes. But it still doesn't cloud the look of pure sadness on his face. In the dark, his face looks so heartbreaking that I finally find the words and whisper them, breathing life into this cramped, stale room that holds so many caged memories.

"I'm okay," I tell him, stroking his forehead with my fingers. "Don't worry about me." I feel so guilty that I have sat here, crying and benefiting from his kindness and friendship, while he battles his demons all by himself.

He is slightly trembling, and abruptly he looks so much younger, an innocent and terrified boy troubled from a terrible nightmare that is sadly a gruesome reality. I hate everything in this meddling world that has ever done anything to Peeta, my boy with the bread, to make him wear this expression. I automatically crush myself closer.

"Peeta," I whisper, my lips against his ear. "Tell me…. about it. If- if you want to. What are your nightmares about?"

His teeth automatically clench, and I'm worried I've said something wrong until he mumbles through strained lips, "You don't want to know, Katniss." He says it with no menace, just utter defeat, which makes it even worse. The moonlight slanting in from my window illuminates his face, and I think I see a single tear glinting on his cheek in the moonlight. My heart, dormant and empty so long of any real emotion besides grief, pangs with a complete new sense of heartbreak, disconnected from my sister and my old life. It's completely connected to Peeta.

"I do, though," I breathe. "I want to help you, Peeta. I want to know everything. I can take it."

He sighs and when those bright blue eyes lock with mine, I can see the internal war he's waging. He shifts in my bed and sits up, rubbing his forehead slowly. Finally, his shoulders bow forward and he begins in a barely audible rasp, his breath coming slow as he struggles to form words for the first time in a long time.

"I—I have flashbacks, Katniss. Of you. But they aren't good. I have dreams about my memories, but not the real ones. The confusing, scary memories the Capitol left with me. Every night, I see you, and I want to reach out to you, but my mind won't let me. I—I just can't seem to stop myself from hating you in those dreams. When I finally wake up, it takes me a few minutes to realize that it wasn't real and that you're here, safe, and that the Capitol's gone. And those few minutes, when I think I've lost _me, _lost you, those are the scariest for me. It's only a bit better when I finally realize that it's a dream. The flashbacks, they make me feel scared. Like I'm not myself or something. Like I'm just another-" he sucks in a sharp breath, "mutt of the Capitol."

He buries his face in his hands as I sit upright next to him. I'm not sure if I should touch him or if that will only makes thing worse. Finally I decide to just pat soothing circles on his back, leaving his hands pressed to his face. I shudder at the thought of his clouded, shiny memories of aching to kill me swirling in his unconscious dreams, but I hold myself together. I owe him this. I need to be strong. And even though I can never fully repay him in my lifetime for all that he's done, at least this is a start.

"It's okay, Peeta," I murmur, scooting closer to him and resting my head on his shoulder. "They aren't real."

"I know," he mumbles, face still in his hands. "I just—before we became friends again, it was so much worse. Now that I have you here and I can see you and touch you and know you're okay, it's a bit better."

I sit in silence for a few moments, processing his words. It makes me feel warm in an unexpected way to realize that before he came to find me that night, he still thought of me up in his bed as the nightmares threatened him. He's always been thinking of me, even then. I'm not sure if that should make me feel cared for or extremely guilty. I think it's a mixture of the two.

"Peeta…" I whisper, folding into his chest and gently moving his head out of his hands. "Don't worry about me, like I said. I'm here." And with his heart beat against my ear, thudding steady and reassuringly, I remind myself that he's here too.

At my touch, he relaxes his face nuzzling into my shoulder as I wrap my arms around his waist. This moment feels so right that I savor it, thinking of nothing else. Just me and Peeta. And despite all the obstacles that I have burdened and overcome to reach this point, I don't understand why I never realized sooner that it really has always been this way. Just me and him, no one else. Us two, fighting to somehow stay sane and keep the other one alive.

v

Our arrangement becomes one of routine. Every day, Peeta bakes and I go out into the woods, sometimes hunting. Greasy Sae doesn't arrive until dinner, sometimes with a slightly sober (or on bad days a very drunken) Haymitch in tow. She brings berries and Haymitch brings his sarcastic wittiness that even though sometimes rude, makes me feel more at home. Then, after they leave and Peeta opens the windows to let the summer breeze permeate the house and cool it down, he stays in my bed with me so that we both sleep free of nightmares. Although he doesn't sleep in his own home, I know he stops by it in the morning to change his clothes before heading to the new bakery in town. I always watch him from my window after he leaves, pleased when he wears a slight smile, and concerned when he seems to be having a particularly rough day. And honestly, I'm impressed that some mornings he can always muster a smile, even if the bad memories hit him after he walks out the house for the day. It takes me a great deal to find something funny enough to smile about, and on the rare occasion when I do, Peeta stares at me, smiling so widely it looks almost comical. Although we are both still broken, with time, we are healing. Peeta is much better at putting a brave face on and smiling through it all, whereas some days I still look stricken with loss. I know it kills Peeta to leave me on those days when an empty grief fills my eyes, but I force him out the door. Baking helps him, just like being in the woods helps me, so I will be the last person to keep him from it, even though he insists differently.

We are friends, but nothing more happens. We don't talk about how he feels about me, even though I idly wonder at night when he falls asleep before me if he still loves me the way he once did. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't, but the thought still gets my heart racing for some reason. Instead, we talk in muted whispers about the pain of watching Prim, strong little Prim, die before my eyes, my mother who still buries her grief in her work, and my father, the songs he would sing to the mockingjays and the things he would say to Peeta when he came to trade at the bakery. We talk about Peeta's memories. He still needs clarification on certain small ones. The material of our outfits in the first arena, the colors he mixed together to find sunlight on white fur, the first meal we ate on the train to the Capitol. The little things he has forgotten he still desperately wants to remember, so I help him. We talk about Peeta's family too. His older brothers, his loving father who gave me cookies the day of the reaping, and even his mother, who although cold-hearted and callous, "actually had a heart, believe it or not", according to Peeta. We don't think much of our sleeping situation, but Greasy Sae and Haymitch quickly catch on. One bright, summer morning, after Peeta has left for the bakery, I am slipping into my father's worn yet comforting and musky hunting jacket when Haymitch barges in, reeking of liquor. The sight of his hair falling into his eyes and his unbalanced stumble almost makes me laugh, which is a hard feat to accomplish.

"Mornin', sweetheart. Saw that boy leave your house. What the hell are you doing with him at night?" He sneers in a way that implies something more, and I automatically turn defensive.

"Take a bath, Haymitch," I toss at him, repeating the same thing I said the day the Victory Tour started.

He cackles and picks a bagel from the bakery off the counter before turning to leave. Just before he reaches the door, his eyes turn soft for one moment, even in his drunken state. "I'm glad, sweetheart."

His voice sounds sincere yet gruff; he's clearly embarrassed to be saying this. So to make his statement seem a little lighter, he calls out as he's leaving, "Don't worry, sweetheart! Effie would be lovin' it! Come to think of it, I can't wait to write Johanna and tell her what my neighbors are up to!" He guffaws, stepping out of my house and tripping down the porch stairs. I roll my eyes and smile, _actually_ smile for the first time in weeks, at the thought of Effie's shocked face absorbing the news of what to her would seem a totally inappropriate situation. My light-hearted humor turns darker though as I remember Effie is changed, altered drastically from the organized, high-fashion Capitol escort I knew that wore pink wigs and golden eyelashes what feels like a lifetime ago. I only hope she can still think of me and Peeta with fondness. I know her opinion shouldn't matter, but it does somehow. Maybe it's because I've been through so much with her by my side. Or maybe it's just because I really don't want to lose one more person.

Either way, my mind is soon occupied with things other than Effie when I realize it has been half a year since I returned from the Capitol and the war, leaving my Mockingjay persona behind. In a strange way, even though no one was gladder to see me stripped of the attention-grabbing title than I myself, I mourn those people who my world used to revolve around. Annie, Johanna, Effie, even my crazy, pet-like prep team. But then again, there are always those people who are harder to think about, the ones who I can't see anymore, who used to mean so much to me. Finnick, my father, my old squad, Boggs, Rue, and… Prim. Just thinking her name makes my heart sting, eyes well with tears. See the fire of those parachutes, hear her desperate, silent cry, taste the ashes on my burnt tongue…

I shake my head, trying to steer my mind back to happier memories of my loved ones instead of the painful bits, like Dr. Aurelius suggested a few weeks ago. I am thoroughly surprised when one of his ideas as a coping mechanism has meaning for me again. As I think this, I resolve to write letters to the people that I still can talk to, people who know the worst and best parts of me.

I start with Johanna.

Johanna, I write, my hand shaking as I imagine her far off in District 7, rebuilding a life. I hope she's happy, but I know better than to think that things have fixed themselves that quickly.

It's me, Brainless. I wanted to write to see how you were. Crazy to think that after all of this we've somehow learned to care for each other, right? I can imagine it's hard, only because I'm going through the same thing. I'm sure Peeta says hi too. He's not here right now but I know he would probably love to talk to you. I'm still a little rocky, like he is, but we both somehow manage to make it through each day. How are you, really? And since it's you and me, I know you'll tell me the truth. I just want to hear from someone who really understands. I hope I can see you someday, because believe it or not, I miss you. Write back whenever you feel like it. Which might be never, but whatever. And because it's me, I'm not going to get mushy with words and details.. That's Peeta's thing. Just write whenever. Please.

Katniss

I laugh as I imagine her response, her smirk as she sees the old nickname appear in the first line. I hope she realizes I mean it when I say I miss her, because I really do.

Just as I'm sealing the envelope, Peeta walks in, his shirt thoroughly caked with flour and his hands red from scrubbing various ingredients off. He smiles when he sees me up and moving, and then reminds me he'll be back after he changes for dinner, even though it is routine by now and I expect him. Nevertheless, every night he reminds me he's coming back.

We have a quiet dinner with only Peeta, Greasy Sae, and me. Haymitch is probably too drunk to come over, but that is fine with me for tonight. The quiet is peaceful, reflective of my mood. When Greasy Sae leaves, I tell Peeta I am tired and we immediately head up to bed, wrapped in each other's embrace. After a while of lying there listlessly though, I realize I am restless.

Peeta's breathing hasn't relaxed into a steady rhythm yet, so I know he's awake. I whisper his name softly in the dark.

He turns to look at me, blue eyes glowing against the black. "Yeah?"

"Did you see the letter I wrote Johanna today?"

His eyes widen. "No, but that's great." He squeezes my shoulder supportively.

"Well, I was thinking about her, and the others. Effie, and Annie, with her baby Finnick. Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

"I'm sure we will, Katniss," Peeta reassures me. "They're like family."

"Okay," I mumble, satisfied with his answer. I can only hope he's right. I start to drift off until I feel Peeta's stare boring into my face and open my eyes tentatively to find his face inches away, his eyes enlightened with excitement.

"What?" I say, confused yet exhilarated at the same time. He's so close to me I can feel his warm breath on my face.

He smiles at my question but I can see that his face is serious. "Katniss, have you ever realized that not one part of our relationship has ever been normal?"

I laugh a little. "I remember you saying that. The day we started working in my father's book." My voice has turned a little grimmer by the end, remembering the words I had said to Peeta then silently that had needed no vocal expression. My rejection of him, my choice of Gale and the rebellion… I flinch, but he continues.

"How about we do something normal together? Tomorrow? I can skip the bakery, and we can do something fun." The word 'fun' sounds completely foreign.

"Fun?" I ask skeptically, my tongue lolling around the strange word.

He chuckles. "Yes. Fun. That's what friends do, remember? They have fun together."

"Okay," I say, willing enough. I'm trying to think of what we could possibly do for fun in District 12 when abruptly a place pops into my head. I almost smile at the thought. "I know where we can go."

Peeta's face lights up at my effort, and his bright eyes, alive with curiosity, melt my insides. And in that moment, I vow to do anything to see him that happy every single day.

"Where?" he asks, his voice curling with anticipation.

"Nope," I answer, shaking my head. "It's a surprise."

Peeta's eyebrows raise but then he just chuckles. "All right, Katniss. Impress me," he teases, ruffling my hair lightly. I roll my eyes.

Peeta laughs and rolls over, only to slightly shift his position when I cuddle into his back, longing for his warmth and that steady safety he brings. Within minutes, I'm asleep.

v

The next morning I wake up with Peeta's arms wrapped around me tightly. My arms are around his waist and my head is buried in his chest. He is everywhere, his warmth, that smell of cinnamon and dill…

I feel so utterly relaxed I can't imagine ever moving. His face looks so peaceful in sleep that I can barely remember he is the broken boy with the hazy flashbacks. I only see love and kindness and warmth and… goodness. Even after all he's been through, he's still truly good. Suddenly, without even thinking about it, I find myself longing for him. In what way, I don't know. I just want to wrap him up and make him happy. I want to see him smile and see him laugh. I just want my Peeta, who by some miracle, is still here with me right now. He has not been taken by the flashbacks. He is still mine.

Unthinkingly, I move my hand to his face to run my fingers across the smooth line of his cheekbone, the firm square of his jaw, the soft and tender shape of his lips. He's so warm it makes my insides feel spongy, and I instinctively lean closer. He stirs at my movement and I quickly put my hand down to twine it back around his waist. He smiles in his sleep and loosens his hold on me as he stretches himself awake. His bright blue eyes are radiant against the morning sunlight streaming in through the window, and he smiles at me. I can't help but smile in return.

"So where are we going?" he asks, his voice husky with sleep.

I smile, remembering our conversation last night and my idea. "You'll see." I twist out of his arms and rise, brushing through my hair with my fingers. Peeta's watching me, his eyes trained on my face. I stick out my tongue at him.

"What?" I demand.

He chuckles slightly. "Nothing," he mutters, shaking his head.

In the next hour, both Peeta and I have gotten dressed and eaten breakfast, so I start packing the picnic basket. He raises his eyebrows.

"You'll see," I remind him, laughing a little.

We start walking, our fingers twined in mutual trust and friendship. As we walk through town, everybody gapes again. I blush and consider loosening my fingers before I realize that this should be over. I no longer have to hide how I feel or worry about what others think of my public appearance. I can do what I want. So I grasp his fingers even tighter, smiling in spite of myself.

We make it to the edge of the woods and Peeta's eyes still look muddled. I lead him and he's as loud as ever. I can't stop laughing when he continuously walks over branches and makes about five rabbits in the surrounding area scurry off. The woods are so alive today, so vibrant, and they seem to absorb my happy mood. Today is one of rare good days, and I don't intend wasting it. It's only when we are a few minutes away that the nervousness sets in. Not because of Peeta, but because of what I'm about to share with him. For years, this has been my sanctuary, free of the world and a place for just my father and me. I've never felt so vulnerable, so open. Can I do this? Show him this part of me and let him in?

When I look over at his bright blue eyes, I find my answer.

They soak up my happiness and bask in it. A smile lights his face the entire time we walk, and I realize how much I trust him. I've trusted him with my life before, and so today, I think I can trust him with this delicate part of my heart.

I push through the last of the brush, taking a deep breath, and focus on nothing but Peeta's face as he absorbs my tiny safe haven. The lake.

His eyes widen and he glances over at me, awestruck. He steps farther into the little clearing and looks around, breathing in the bright blue sky and summer air swirling the glistening lake water in the gentle breeze. It is a perfect day. I close my eyes and do the same when his arms around me, clutching me close. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck, returning the embrace.

When he mumbles into my hair, it sounds as if he is near tears. "Thank you, Katniss."

"Mmmm…" is all I say.

I don't know how, but somehow he knows this place is more than just a random rendezvous I once found. He knows it's special to me, and that just enforces in my head and my heart how well he truly knows who I am. So I sit in the grass and lay back, mesmerized by the swaying trees and Peeta's eyes, alight with curiosity and a contagious glow. I haven't been this happy in such a long time that I savor it, let my head lean on Peeta's shoulder. Eventually, we eat our lunch, talking about that day on the roof when we had this same picnic. We talk about happy memories, though, never anything dark. The sky summer day dances around us, but all I can focus on is him. His laugh, his smile, his very presence… it captures me.

A little while later, we sit at the edge of the lake with our feet dipped in. Peeta's fingers are twined with mine, and he sits back, relaxing. Suddenly, I realize something.

'You don't know how to swim, do you?" I ask.

Peeta looks over at me with a smirk. "No. I never had the chance to learn. My father wasn't as much of a survivalist as yours."

"True," I say. "But that is just sad. I mean, you don't know how to swim, even after knowing me for almost three years. It doesn't seem right. I think I've failed as a friend."

He chuckles while still checking to make sure I'm serious. "You want to teach me how to swim?"

"I do," I say with conviction. "Now stand up."

"Katniss, I don't know…" his blue eyes look unsure. "You don't have to-"

I cut him off. "I want to."

He raises his eyebrows apprehensively but listens to me, heaving himself up on his good leg and brushing off his pants. "All right," he says determinedly. "Let's go."

I wade into the water, him right behind me, until it's too deep to stand any longer. "All right," I begin, "Now kick your legs like this." I show him the proper motions and he mimics them, struggling with his prosthetic leg. We both laugh when he flails around and loses his balance, having to clutch me. I support his weight easily in the water, but I can't stop laughing. He smirks, and even though I can tell he wants to scowl, he doesn't. He closes his eyes and listens to my buoyant laugh pierce the air around us. I know what he's thinking: I haven't laughed like that in such a long time.

To distract him, I take my hand and skid the water, splashing him in the face. His eyes open shock, and then he swims towards me in disbelief before splashing me. We swim around the lake, splashing each other and laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Eventually, Peeta's leg gives out and I have to tow him back to shore, his arm clutching mine.

We collapse on the strip of sand that circles the perimeter of the lake, and I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I haul him up off the sand and when he loses his footing, we both fall, him on top of me. His warmth presses down on me from all sides, but it doesn't feel unwelcome. It feels good, actually.

Once I process this thought, that's all I'm aware of. His gentle laugh as he heaves himself off of me, how cold my body feels without him, how close I feel to him, how his lips are moving in perfect synchronization as he breathes through them. His wet hair, dripping down his back… To make things even more distracting, he has to peel off his wet shirt since his slippery hands won't position his prosthetic. His muscular arms flex as he moves, and I stare at the contours of him, wondering what I'm doing. I've seen Peeta like this so many times, in the arena, in sleep, almost every day for these past few years I've actually known him personally, not just known _of_ him. I have seen his face, memorized those blue irises, and relished his ever-present scent that no one else I know inhabits the same way he does. Why am I just now being affected by it? Why can't I take my eyes off his as he gazes into mine, echoing every thought I've just conjured up in this past minute? Why do I want to lean closer, and put my hands on his shoulders? Why do I want to run my fingers through his hair, hear his lips whisper my name…?

Peeta finally breaks me out of my endless reverie by clearing his throat. I know he's felt it too. His eyes are gentle and soft, penetrating mine with an unfair force. I sit up a little straighter and comb my hair with my fingers.

"Are you ready to go?" he asks gently, pushing himself up and reaching his hand out.

"Yeah, I am," I concede. I haven't even noticed the sky has begun to darken, the fireflies awakening. He helps me up, and I feel fire in my hand. Suddenly, his touch feels radioactive. Intensified by the dark and his protective hand on the small of my back as we walk, he feels so close it's staggering. My mind is focused on the feeling of his hands against my skin, on my back. I try to shake my head to clear it, feeling stupid for being so preoccupied, but it doesn't help. Only when we reach town and people start to notice my dazed eyes boring into Peeta's do we straighten up and loosen our grasp on each other, only keeping our hands tangled. For some reason completely foreign and unknown to me, I don't like that we have to pull away.

When we reach my house, we amble inside and both take showers before just curling up on the couch. His arms feel so warm, that fire settling down into a simmer. I relax, resting my head against his chest and letting sleep take me. For the first time in such a long time, I don't think I will have nightmares tonight.

v

I'm wrong. The next thing I know I am awake, now in my bed, my palms freezing and head spinning. Where is Peeta? I grope the sheets until I find his warm body and curl into it. He stirs at my movement and rolls over to welcome me into his arms. He must realize the terror in my eyes because he sits up and scoots closer, rubbing my back and wrapping his arms around me so gently I begin to cry.

I remember my dream in sharp, aching detail…

Peeta was there. And so was Gale. I looked head on at those blue, gentle, loving eyes and told Peeta I didn't want him. I saw myself reject him and choose the rebellion. I saw him tortured for defending me, even when I pushed him away and used him so many nights I needed comfort without ever giving him any. I saw the past two years flash through my head, but for the first time, they aren't horrible memories of Prim or the arenas or my impending doom. They are memories of the heartbreak I caused Peeta, and now I want nothing more than to give what he wants.

I feel sick with myself, because even after everything I have done to him, he still sits here, comforting me and murmuring kind words. My sob breaks as I manage to whisper, "Don't, Peeta."

His eyes stare into mine, a mix of shock and confusion and just a tiny bit of hurt on his face. Nevertheless, he pulls away; always ready to give me what I want. That makes it hurt even more. He thinks I don't want him, that his touch bothers me, when all I really I want is him. My Peeta, my boy with the bread, who understands me and protects me and knows who I am. He can't see that, and it kills me. He sits next to me, giving me my space, deciding that is what I want, that I will never want him. I don't know how he feels about me, and I don't know what I feel about him, so I cry harder.

'Katniss…" Peeta's voice is alarmed, shaking with nerves. "It's okay… whatever it was, it's over now."

"It's not though," I choke out through my tears. "It's not over. I've hurt you so much, and I can't ever take it back. I ingrained it into your head, made you believe it, made myself believe it. And after everything I've done to you, you still sit here, comforting me. I've hurt you Peeta. I've done nothing but bad to you…. And I'm—I'm sorry…"

Peeta interrupts my meaningless rambling. I see understanding light his eyes, but they still look a little muddled, as if he doesn't understand why I'm dreaming about him. Of course he doesn't. He almost looks a little mad too. "Katniss," he says defiantly, gently taking my chin and tilting it up so I have to stare at him, "I am fine. I am here. You haven't hurt me. Everything I've done and that's happened to me hasn't been because of you. You've done much more good than bad. I'm alive because of you; I'm free from the Capitol because of you… You mean everything to me," he says, and his voice is abruptly softer. The quiet of the room is stifling, and I'm entranced by what he's just said, bad dream forgotten. "You've always been there, Katniss. Even when I was little and my father talked about he loved your mother. When I saw you on the first day of school and every bird I saw outside that window stopped singing. On reaping day, when you walked up to that stage, so determined to keep it together, I admired you. I… I loved you even. All I could think was, 'Not her'. I've felt the same way ever since that first day when I threw you that bread. And I lost myself for awhile too. I hurt you when I was hijacked. You can't blame yourself Katniss. Just don't. It makes me feel so sad to see you this way… Don't beat yourself up over me, please…" his voice is just a whisper by the end, begging.

I'm crying, and I think he is too. I can't form the words I want to say, and I've never been good with words. All I know is he still loves me, still cares about, wants me to happy. And that's all I've ever needed. So instead of using words, I do the only thing I can think of to let him know how much what he's just said means to me.

I kiss him.


	4. Chapter 4

I can't tell who's more shocked, Peeta or me.

I, of course, would have never expected myself to be the first person to lean in and kiss Peeta, full on the mouth, tangling my fingers in his hair and securing his face to mine. However, he looks even more stunned, eyes flying wide open as soon as my lips touch his. My mouth moves familiarly against his, soaking up his staggering heat, before he pulls back, his hands gently holding my waist in an easy restraint.

"Katniss…" he murmurs, "What are you-?" His ocean-like eyes are confused, but also a little bit wide. He's staring at me so intensely, I want to look away. _What am I doing?_ I think to myself. I'm the one who set carefully boundaries in my mind and heart, forced Peeta to be a friend and nothing more. Now, I'm sitting side by side with him on my bed, trying to attack him. I don't know what to say, because I honestly don't know even know myself what to feel. My cheeks start to burn with a rosy pink color as he continues to stare at me, his eyes wide and questioning. He's so warm, so steady, so _inviting_ that I don't make any attempt to talk either. I just stare back, losing myself in his bright blue irises that gleam in the moonlight. His hair is tousled, and it reminds me of that day in my kitchen when I was accidentally caught stroking his hair while I thought he was asleep. The blond locks look the same they did that day about a month ago, and now, before I realize what I'm doing, I'm leaning closer by instinct, aching to run my fingers through his hair.

His eyes widen even more, and he opens his mouth to speak. I don't think I've ever seen him try so hard to form words, and it almost hurts me to see him try so hard. It's minutes before he finally responds.

"I…" he utters, running a hand through his hair. "I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" I ask stupidly. I of course know full well what he means, but I can't bring myself to form a response, to tell him how much I actually need him. I suppose I do love him, but I don't think I can bring myself to say it out loud. Everyone I've ever loved is now gone, and I know that I would not survive if he left. The thought isn't even imaginable.

He interrupts my pained thoughts with a quiet, "You don't want this, Katniss." There's no malice in his voice, which makes it even more heartbreaking. He truly believes that I don't feel anything for him at all. That every single thing I've ever said to him has been an act, a ruse to please the Capitol as they tugged at us like puppet strings. This thought enrages me. After all the Capitol has done to him, even after how I reacted to the news of him being captured, and I'm sure he heard from several people who realized before I did that I loved him, he still won't believe. I can't tell if my heart is breaking because of my anger at the Capitol or because of my genuine sadness. Or maybe it's because I realize that what I'm about to do will only suck me in deeper towards things I swore to myself I would never do again.

His gaze masks his pain well, but I know better. I slide my arms around his neck, breathing in that scent of cinnamon and dill. His eyes fall shut, the skin of his forehead pinched in stress and confusion. I don't know what I feel, or what he feels, but in this moment, I have to tell him the truth. I know I'm not ready to tell him I love him, but I can tell him what I know in my heart of hearts is one hundred percent true. I move my lips to his ear and whisper into it, raising goose bumps on his bare arms.

"Please, Peeta," I beg, needing a steady reassurance that what I'm about to do is right. "Look at me."

His eyes open slowly, and now the pain is visible in his expression, along with the confusion and shock. "Katniss…" he begins, his voice gentle against the humid night air of the room. "I—you don't have to do this…"

"Just let me talk, please," I interrupt, knowing that whatever he's going to say will only complicate things even more. I try to begin, but I'm so scared to finally let him in, to let him fully understand what I've felt about him over these past three years. It's scary to think of him knowing me inside and out for all I am, and still loving me in spite of it, when I know that love only leads to anger and loss. My mind and my heart seem to be at war with each other. My heart wants me to tell him the truth, to wipe that pained whisper off of Peeta's lips with a simple 'I need you'. But my mind is being practical, reminding me of my darkest times and where the love I used to reserve for a few special people landed me. I try to remind myself Peeta is still here, my arms still wrapped around his neck, but I struggle to concentrate on that with so many intermingling thoughts battling in my head. Finally, in order to reassure myself that what I'm about to do is right, I press my lips to his softly yet suddenly to make sure he has no chance to pull away. I feel the heat, the fire… I glance up to look in his blue eyes, and they seem to be melting into mine, erasing every practical thought my mind has conjured up. For years, I've been so indecisive, racking my brain and thinking all of these painful thoughts out of fear of loss. I've never let my heart do what it wants, but with his blue eyes burning into mine, those eyes I would know anywhere, the words flow out of my mouth with an unstoppable force. For the first time in my life, I let my heart do the talking.

"I know I've misled you, Peeta," I begin, rushing to pour my thoughts out. "I know I've hurt you. I rejected you that day on the train and made you and I and everyone else around us believe that I felt nothing. That I used you just to get home to be with my family. I will admit I was so confused in those first Games. I had wanted to come up to you so many times and thank you for throwing that bread, enduring a beating for me, a Seam girl you didn't even know… But I just didn't. You had friends, you were well-liked—I even remember the day Olive Wright decided to tell you that she liked you and you stood there, so polite and understanding when you gently let her down. I knew nothing about you, besides the fact that you went to my school and were the baker's son. After that day in the rain though, I knew you weren't like some of your other friends. You were _good_. You cared about people, you knew what to say, you just _knew_ somehow…. And you knew that day in the rain, what I needed. You saved my life, Peeta. Even before you did it in a more public way because of the Games, you saved me by giving me that hope. And I remember picking a dandelion the next day, and knowing my family and I were going to make it through. You made eye contact with me, but I never said anything. Until we were being prepped and primed to fight to the death against each other. I still regret that even now, with you here, in my arms. In the Games, I did put somewhat of an act on to keep us alive, but I wanted to be your friend. And in the cave, I wanted you to kiss me again before my head wound started to bleeding. Throughout the Victory tour, I was so glad I had you as a friend that I forgot how much I'd hurt you. When the Quell came around, I knew I cared about you. You were my friend, but I had chosen the rebellion and-" I wince the name, "Gale. But I wasn't stupid. I knew you were prepared to die for me. And I was just as prepared to die for you. Because even though I never told you, I wouldn't have made it on my own. I would have stayed locked up in that arena, miserable. I meant it when I said I needed you on the beach, and I meant it when I kissed you. I believed I was responsible for you getting captured. I still do. And it took me all that time, you being ripped out of my life, for me to finally realize how I really felt about you. Which was that I cared. I cared about you, my boy with the bread who always knew what to say and talked to audiences for me, comforted me from all my bad dreams, kept me in one piece after almost everything I loved I lost. And it seemed so unfair, because then you were gone. You finally saw me as who I was, and that broke me. I realized that I had never deserved you, because someone who didn't love me like you did would think the same things. That I'm a monster. I…. everybody knew but me, Peeta. And I'm sorry—I'm sorry that it took me so long to figure it out."

Silent tears are running down my cheeks, and I can tell that within a few seconds they will build to a steady sob. Peeta's eyes are still wide and shell-shocked, staring at me with a burning intensity. I can't bear to look at him, knowing he has every right to be angry with me. Here I am, trying to tell him how much I care about him, when all I've done is push him away throughout these years. I let him believe everything I did was an act. I broke him.

Just when I think Peeta is going to continue his silence and leave, move on and forget me, his hand gently reaches out to tilt my chin up. When he notices the tears in my eyes and the sob constricted in my throat, his eyes soften immediately. He hesitates, touching my arm with a calloused finger, and when I don't flinch, he pulls me against him softly, his chin resting on my matted hair. The world moves around us, but it feels as if we are frozen in time. His heartbeat, beating against my ear, fills the silence of the room as he whispers reassurances to me. I think of my dream again, how after how much I hurt him, he still sits here, comforting me and loving me. I wince, completely broken down. I will never be good enough for him. I can't give him what he wants; love him the way he deserves to be loved. My heart just isn't capable of that anymore.

The quiet stretches on as my sobs halt to an ending. The only evidence left of my crying stint is my tear-trailed cheeks; Peeta's soaked shirt, and the sound of silence permeating the room. It's always silent after I've had a bad dream and it's finally passed.

I think over what I've said, hoping Peeta realizes I mean what I say. That I do love him. I'm just too afraid to let him in.

But I want to see that same smile I saw in the woods earlier today. I want to make him that happy every day for the rest of his life, love him the way he should be loved. I just don't think I can.

I'm thinking Peeta is going to let me just go to sleep and let the silence stretch on, giving us both a night to think, but after a few more moments, his gentle voice breathes against the top of my head.

"It's okay, Katniss," he murmurs. "I understand. Don't worry about me. I wouldn't be alive without you either. Please," his voice becomes softer now, pleading. "Don't feel like you owe me anything."

I understand his words and what he's implying. He still doesn't realize what I'm offering. That I am actually trying to put myself out on a limb by telling him to stay with me. He doesn't know it, but I do. And I hope that one day he can grasp it just as much as my mind does. I can't live without him. Maybe at one point I did feel like I was merely using him for my own advantage, but all along, I can now see that he has never been a toy for me to play around with then break. He's always been able to tug at the strings of my heart, and if I'm being honest, I think I've always cared about him. Now is my chance to prove to him, and only him, for real this time, without any cameras or fanatic Capitol people watching and hanging onto our every last word, just how much I need him. So as he is about to disentangle himself and stand up, probably to go home and try to forget about the events of this night, I cling to him tightly with every ounce of strength I have. When he opens his mouth to protest, I don't let him finish.

I kiss him with everything I can muster, trying to make him understand how much I've always needed him. He is being gentle and polite, trying to argue with me about what I want again. But I won't let our lips break apart. Eventually, he gives up and starts to kiss me back, this time genuinely wrapping his arms around my waist as I melt against him. He is so warm and strong and _everywhere _that I can't concentrate on one part of him at once. My fingers tangle in his hair and our breaths mingle together as my mouth opens to weave my tongue with his. I know I must seem desperate, but I don't care. I need him. And I need even more to make him finally understand that.

Eventually, we have to break away for air, and he presses his forehead to mine as our heavy breathing fills the room. Conflicting emotions in his eyes, he gingerly reaches down to kiss my forehead softly. I close my eyes as a million moments flash through me. Long nights on the train, makeup and costumes and parades that all felt so ridiculous, except for the fact that he was there with me. I even have a vision of that day in the school lot, when I picked a dandelion and stared straight into those bright blue eyes. Back then, I could have never imagined a moment like this with Peeta Mellark, the friendly baker's son. But now, it feels as if everything that's ever happened to me in this life has had the sole purpose of leading me back to Peeta, in this moment, our bodies intertwined.

"You love me," he whispers suddenly, asking a question. "Real or not real?"

He knows my answer, and I see his lips turn up in that breathtaking smile that I've only seen him wear a handful of times.

So, as the quiet night settles around us, I focus on those eyes, now free of any doubt or cloudy confusion these past few years have brought.

"Real," I tell him.


	5. Chapter 4 Peeta's POV

**Hey guys! Soooo, since the last Chapter was kind of short, I decided to update a little sooner with Chapter 4 from Peeta's POV. It's rainy outside and I'm stuck in the house being sick, so I was in the mood to write. I really wanted to experiment with how Peeta would feel if Katniss finally felt the same way about him after all this time, and so this was really interesting to write from his perspective. I hope you guys like it, and be sure to let me know if you want more from Peeta's POV in the future! I have lots of ideas for this story, but feel free to give me any feedback or comments you might have****J Also, thanks to all the people who have reviewed! You make my day so much better. So, without further ado, Chapter 4 from Peeta's POV.**

Fire, that's all I feel. All I've ever felt.

These past three years, with the Games and the Revolution and everything that's happened in between, fire has always been everywhere: in the features and memories of Katniss as we endured the hardships of the games, in my cell as I watched my memories sizzle with tainted fire away to nothing, and in the revolution as countless people died, fire swallowing them up whole. I guess most people would call it a sort of symbol of the rebellion, like the mockingjay bird, but for me, fire reminds me mostly of her.

I feel the fire right now. It feels so good, her lips against mine, so warm and soft and sweet. Her hair, matted with sleep, still feels silky as it brushes my face and drapes over my shoulders. I am on fire, but it takes me only a second to realize that I shouldn't be greeting this fire, or welcoming it. I should be stopping it.

My eyes are already wide open in shock, and they've stayed that way ever since Katniss, just a few seconds ago, leaned in to kiss me. _Kiss_ me. Just the thought has my heart racing. I muster up all the strength I can and push her back just a little, her lips still breathing life into mine just an inch away. I can feel her fragile hands on my shoulders, gripping them tight. I shudder, remembering that I should be fair to her and let her know that she doesn't have to pretend for me. And even if she isn't pretending, she doesn't need this. I can comfort her, be there for her, and protect her, of course, but I just can't start kissing her every time she needs me. I have to learn how to be friends with his girl who has meant more to me over the course of my life than anyone else I've known. The sad part is that it's not for my own sake; it's for hers. Of course I would love to wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her silky lips, bury my face in her hair. But it doesn't feel right. Not when she's simply going along with it to appease her own mind and give me what I want. I won't make her settle for me. Not ever.

All this rushes through my mind within a few seconds, and when I look up to meet Katniss's eyes, they are confused, maybe even a little hurt.

I know I need to tell her what I'm feeling. But I'm suddenly so tired and muddled and confused that I don't even know where to begin. "Katniss… what are you-?" I lose my train of thought, staring into her startling, gray eyes. They look like storm clouds, fierce yet also vulnerable, moving with that delicate sense of purpose. I can see her face change, her eyes become determined. I've seen this look all too many times, and I steel myself for whatever she is about to say. She very rarely says exactly what's on her mind just because she's never really liked talking to people, which is more than fine with me. What she does say… it's always perfect somehow.

In the dark, I wait for her to begin. As the silence stretches on, her cheeks begin to burn with a rosy pink color and I desperately wonder what she's thinking. Maybe she will do the job for me and finally force the both of us to let go of whatever this relationship we have is. Maybe she will be the one to steer us gently yet solidly back into that easy, steady direction of friendship. Maybe she will finally let me know for sure that she just can't ever love me back the way I've always loved her. After all, I know that's what I should want. For her to move on, for me to move on, for us to be happy without all the complications. But the thought of losing the way I feel about her is almost unimaginable after everything we've been through. As the silence stretches on, we sit there, staring into each other's eyes. Mine probably reflecting hers, pools of fear and confusion. And I think mine probably still show a little bit of the shock I'm still feeling that Katniss was the one to lean in to kiss me. That's where the heart of this confusion lies.

We've kissed so many times on camera, but the only kiss I've ever felt I was actually kissing her, and not the tribute of the Capitol, was on the beach in the Quell. Even if the whole world was watching, I knew. And I've spent a great deal of nights ever since then wondering why that one was different. Maybe because we had finally both realized we were prepared to die for each other, or maybe simply because we thought we would never see each other again. It doesn't matter anyway. When I think about that night, it only confuses me. Just like I'm confused right now. Every single time Katniss has kissed me, without the Capitol's cameras recording every moment, I don't understand. She kissed me in the tunnel as we were fighting off those lizards, but that one wasn't hard to grasp. She kissed me so that we would all stay alive and because she had to bring me back. And all those nights on the train, nothing ever happened between us, except for the fact that we held each other's nightmares at bay. Tonight is the first kiss I've gotten from Katniss that I don't understand at all, besides that one the night before the Quell ended. I'm not sure what she's wanted all along. My friendship obviously, but with her, friendship has never seemed to be enough. After everything that's happened with the Games and the war, I'm not sure I can let her go so easily.

We continue to stare at each other, her eyes intensely boring into mine. Finally, I can't take it any longer and I say the first thoughts on my mind. "I…. don't understand."

That's the understatement of the century.

Her forehead creases, and I can tell she's concentrating hard. "What do you mean?" she asks softly.

Again, I say the first thing that comes to mind. I hadn't thought of it before, but now that I'm saying it, it seems right. "You don't want this, Katniss," I say simply, no hint of accusation or hurt in my tone. I realize the truth of my words as I say them. She wants me to be there for her when she's confused or lonely, and I don't blame her for it. If I could, I would let her use me for the rest of her life as a source of comfort, but that wouldn't be fair to either of us. I know she's confused, and that's probably why in the mess of all this, she eventually kissed me. And I'd be lying to say it didn't hurt. Of course it stung, recognizing the rejection and loss of the girl I'd loved for so long. But in the long run, I shouldn't be hurt, right? I always saw this coming.

It still doesn't stop that burning fire of pain from rising up in me. But after all this time, I'm pretty good at masking any signs of pain.

When I focus my thoughts on her again after I've composed myself, her face startles me. It's angry but also so sad in a way that makes me want to wrap my arms around her. She beats me there though, sliding her arms around my neck and breathing heavily. I close my eyes, feeling her warm body against mine. When the time comes, I'm not sure how I will let her go.

Suddenly, I am jolted back in time to that day in the rain, when I threw Katniss that bread. I made sure my mother didn't see me, but my brothers, who had been up in our room, witnessed everything, which I hadn't realized until later that day when I walked upstairs to clean up and saw them, perched on my bed, ready to make fun of me for giving our bread to the Seam girl.

_ "Katniss Everdeen…." Jeb had whistled, throwing his head back and laughing. "Are you an idiot? I'm surprised you didn't run out into the rain and kiss her, like some dramatic movie from the Capitol!"_

_ I had been too embarrassed to say anything, but my other brother Ky, who had always been my favorite, just chuckled. "Man, Peeta, what're we gonna do with you?"_

_ Jeb then interrupted, still cackling. "Don't worry, Ky. He'll get over her someday. And when he does, I'm already calling dibs on giving him hell for it."_

Now, in Katniss's dark bedroom in the Victor's Village, that conversation seems a million miles away, a thousand days old. For a moment, my heart aches for my brothers, my father, even my cold-hearted mother. Now, Jeb's joke about letting Katniss go seems to be becoming an unwelcome reality for me. But even if I do eventually let go of what I feel for Katniss someday, he won't be there to laugh at me with his "I told you so". And strangely, after all those years of bickering with him, I wish he would be.

I'm just about to tell Katniss the same thing I repeated back when I returned. _'Let's be friends'_. But before I have the chance to say so, she has her lips pressed to my ear, and now I'm distracted.

"Please, Peeta," she begs, and her voice sounds so small and scared that my heart aches for her. "Look at me."

"Katniss…" my voice sounds hoarse, "I—you don't have to do this."

"Just let me talk, please," she pleads, interrupting my thought process. I nod my head, preparing myself for whatever she has to say. I know I can handle it. Her storm cloud eyes wear a look of vulnerability that I've never seen before, and suddenly she's talking so fast, I have to strain to catch all of it.

"I know I've misled you, Peeta," she begins. "I know I've hurt you. I rejected you that day on the train and made you and I and everyone else around us believe that I felt nothing. That I used you just to get home to be with my family. I will admit I was so confused in those first Games. I had wanted to come up to you so many times and thank you for throwing that bread, enduring a beating for me, a Seam girl you didn't even know… But I just didn't. You had friends, you were well-liked—I even remember the day Olive Wright decided to tell you that she liked you and you stood there, so polite and understanding when you gently let her down. I knew nothing about you, besides the fact that you went to my school and were the baker's son. After that day in the rain though, I knew you weren't like some of your other friends. You were _good_. You cared about people, you knew what to say, you just _knew_ somehow…. And you knew that day in the rain, what I needed. You saved my life, Peeta. Even before you did it in a more public way because of the Games, you saved me by giving me that hope. And I remember picking a dandelion the next day, and knowing my family and I were going to make it through. You made eye contact with me, but I never said anything. Until we were being prepped and primed to fight to the death against each other. I still regret that even now, with you here, in my arms. In the Games, I did put somewhat of an act on to keep us alive, but I wanted to be your friend. And in the cave, I wanted you to kiss me again before my head wound started to bleed. Throughout the Victory tour, I was so glad I had you as a friend that I forgot how much I'd hurt you. But when the Quell came around, I knew I cared about you. You were my friend, but I had chosen the rebellion and-" she winces the name, "Gale. But I wasn't stupid. I knew you were prepared to die for me. And I was just as prepared to die for you. Because even though I never told you, I wouldn't have made it on my own. I would have stayed locked up in that arena, miserable. I meant it when I said I needed you on the beach, and I meant it when I kissed you. I believed I was responsible for you getting captured. I still do. And it took me all that time, you being ripped out of my life, for me to finally realize how I really felt about you. Which was that I cared. I cared about you, my boy with the bread who always knew what to say and spoke to crowds for me, comforted me from all my bad dreams, kept me in one piece after almost everything I loved I lost. And it seemed so unfair, because then you were gone, hijacked. You finally saw me as who I was, and that broke me. I realized that I had never deserved you, because someone who didn't love me like you did would think the same things. That I'm a monster. I…. everybody knew but me, Peeta. And I'm sorry—I'm sorry that it took me so long to figure it out." She's out of breath after this speech, breathing heavily and staring at me with such a desperate look of sadness that I feel that fire again, slowly spreading throughout my body to the very tips of my being.

I don't know what to say or think. This speech, the one that actually tells me exactly how she's felt for all this time, is not the one I expected. And now, I'm stunned. I can't move as I sit there, trying to process her words without any luck. I don't know if I understand what she means. But I'm afraid that I might.

I now notice the tears trailing down her cheeks, her hands clumsily wiping them away. I stare at her, feeling helpless. I don't know what she wants from me, but I know what I want, so I tilt her chin up to finally say the words that are on my mind, the words that will let me know what I need to know. _'Do you love me'_?

But when I meet her eyes, they are so confused and scared and open that I get the feeling she realizes this is the first time she has ever opened herself up to me so widely. I hesitate, touching her arm with a calloused finger, and when she doesn't flinch, I pull her against me softly, my chin resting on the top of her head. The world moves around us, but it feels as if we are frozen in time. I whisper to her, telling her everything will be all right, that I'm here. Her sobs begin to quiet as the tears soak through my shirt to my skin. They smell like her, a mix of salt and musk.

I just want to say one more thing before I let her go to sleep.

"It's okay, Katniss," I murmur. "I understand. Don't worry about me. I wouldn't be alive without you either. Please," my voice becomes softer now, pleading. "Don't feel like you owe me anything." And I mean this. I don't want her to pity me. I'll survive it, as long as she ends up happy.

She just sits there, conflicting emotions in her eyes. I think it will be better for her if I go home and give her the rest of the night to think in peace. I'm just about to disentangle myself when her hands grasp my shoulders vice-tight.

Her lips are on mine then, and I know I should stop her, but I can't. The first few times I try to argue with her, she won't let me breathe. Finally, I give in and wrap my arms around her waist, burying my face in her hair as her fingers tangle in my hair and our lips move against each other's. I feel a thrill rush through me as she whispers my name, and suddenly I'm on fire. She has never kissed me like this before, and I think of all the times as a child I watched her, wishing I could hold her hand and kiss her. Now, after all this time, it doesn't feel real that I'm suddenly doing exactly that.

Eventually, we have to break away for air, but she keeps her arms wrapped around my neck, her forehead pressed to mine. I kiss it softly, smoothing out the crinkled lines of her forehead with my lips. She relaxes into my touch, and I can't process the fact that she has finally let me in like this. For the past three years, ever since we spoke to each other for the first time on that train, I've loved her. Now, it doesn't seem real that she wants something like this. Nothing is shiny about this moment, but I'm abruptly terrified that this is not reality. That at any moment, Katniss will lunge at me and the Capitol's memories will take over. I grip that ledge I've found in my mind tightly, the one that separates reality from the lies, willing myself to not fall over it. Once I've recovered, I simply ask the question, not knowing how I will react to her answer. I'm not sure what she will say. But if she does respond the way I've dreamed about for so long, I'm not sure I will ever be able to hear any words but that one.

"You love me," I whisper, my voice suddenly younger and more vulnerable. "Real or not real?"

"Real," she tells me.

And because of that one word, I know I will be able to survive all the rest.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi lovelies :) After a lot of thought, I've decided that for now, Our Hope After Loss is going to end here. If I ever do really feel the need to pick it back up and expand on the story, I will come back to it, but I honestly think I am happier with it ending a little sooner than I originally planned. I originally was going to continue the story through Peeta and Katniss's entire life, but I decided that I almost like the idea of imagining a million different possible endings rather than writing just one. And the "real" scene between Katniss and Peeta seems like the perfect place to end this little short story. Of course I want to continue to post on here, and I have a lot of ideas for some one shots and I may or may not have a long-term, full story in the works dealing with Finnick and Annie ;) So anyway, I hope you all who have been reading understand, and THANK YOU for the amazing reviews that make my day. I hope you enjoyed reading this little mini story, even though it ended a bit sooner than expected. Have a great week, and I'll talk to you soon :) 


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